Well, I wasn't too thrilled at how the Packers got in, but I couldn't complain about a last-second, no-time-remaining, 4th-and-25 touchdown pass by a backup quarterback. But as a Seahawks fan, I'm glad they at least put up a valiant fight.

The thing is, yesterday's game was a contest to see who wins the right to go to Philadelphia and get crushed into tiny bits. Green Bay won. But I don't think they can beat Philadelphia. If you think about it, they allowed Seattle, which is only an above-average team at best, to score 27 points, including a touchdown with less than two minutes remaining in the game. Imagine what will happen when a good team plays them.

You cover your eyes, scary-movie style. My husband hits the mute button. I have never figured out why that helps, but he does it. Maybe so I can better hear his loud mutterings and predictions of apocalyptic doom and gloom.

OT: He simply changed the channel when the Seahawks got the ball. Stopped watching. Flipped channels incessantly. Finally switched back to see a Packer celebration. Ahhh, the tension evaporates.

I was happy and relieved, until I realized I have to deal with this again next week.

This is the man who, when we were dating, was banned from watching the Packers at my apartment, especially if it was Monday Night Football. We fought because I made a simple, optimistic prediction with two minutes left to go in a game. I hadn't yet learned the rule: no optimism allowed -- must expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised. (My prediction turned out to be correct, by the way.)